


Don't Show Mercy

by yodelingpro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodelingpro/pseuds/yodelingpro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Low-life Castiel stumbles upon a priest who turns his life around and makes him believe in the goodness of people again. After getting in street fights with gangs, guess who they take, and guess who has to save his priestly ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cas is a druggy and Dean is a priest and I'm legit going to hell.

It was nearing twilight as cars passed Castiel on the dirty street downtown. A dog barked in the distance, and strangers strode past him with quick steps and hushed whispers. He swallowed roughly, the poisonous smoke from his cigarette wafting down his throat as he did so. Castiel’s leg was propped up against the side of a battered brick building, _Like the suave guys in films_ , he thought, and grinned wickedly, thinking about how we was anything but cool. In truth he never pictured himself getting into drugs and whoring around, selling his body for money, or squatting in a run-down apartment with two other guys who were past the point of no-return. He wondered briefly if he had hit that point. He couldn’t remember how old he was. He thinks his birthday was two months ago. Things always became fuzzy when he took his drugs. He had memory issues now, which he knew would happen eventually, but the prospect of the idea never frightened him. One of Castiel’s squatting-buddies, Balthazar, had said, “Happy 26th birthday, mate. Have a shot for us, will ya?” Castiel didn’t know if he was twenty six. He felt older, ancient actually. His bones ached and his mind was slow, almost distant at times.

He tossed his limp, dark hair back from his face. He needed to have a good wash. He felt grubby, and overall uncomfortable in his own skin. Castiel puffed out the last of the smoke from his cig and dropped it onto the pavement, not looking at it as he ground it into the sidewalk with his combat boot. He coughed harshly into his fisted hand and felt like his lungs were going to burst. Castiel’s hand had blood splattered on it when he pulled it away from his mouth. _At least I have my health_ , he thought dryly.

Cas walked away from his spot, craving a doughnut to settle his twisting stomach. He had to work that night, and he wasn’t doing it without the comfort of food.

A few blocks down from his usual smoking place was a shitty excuse for a doughnut shop that was open 24/7, but goddamn, those chocolate éclairs. Cas would do anything for one of those pastries. It was on the corner beside a little Italian restaurant where Castiel would take his occasional date for some pasta or a slice of pizza.

A woman crashed into him, and she stumbled back before stuttering and apologizing. “It’s fine,” Castiel said. “You okay?” He reached out, trying to seem as friendly as possible, but the woman recoiled and nodded quickly before jogging past him. That’s the thing with people; they always get freaked out when they see his face for the first time. Castiel had been painfully good looking at one point. Strangers would stop and stare, but in a different way. It was never bad. His face had been sculpted well, his hair had a certain richness to it, and his eyes were a blue that girls would say was, “The-calm-before-the-storm-blue.” He’d laugh, but always enjoyed the attention. Then a few years ago it stopped. He had been a bystander in a bar fight, and one of the guys had grabbed him and used him as a fucking shield. Goddamn son of a bitch. The other guy, an absolute giant, had smashed a bottle and gone for Castiel’s face. That’s how he got those scars. His face had been cut up pretty badly, and he’d screamed and kneed the other guy in the balls. Cas was lucky the guy had missed his eyes.

“Cas!”

He looked over his shoulder, saw red hair and a smiling face underneath a knitted beanie, and stopped in his tracks. He didn’t smile at her when Charlie came running up to him, her striped scarf bouncing up and down. “Hey, kid,” Cas said, frowning at his friend. “What’re you doing out so late for?” He glanced up and down the street to see if anyone had been tailing her.

“Gran wanted some mini doughnuts. You goin’ to the shop?”

“Yeah, c’mon,” he said, swinging his arm around her shoulder, hugging her to his side protectively. Of course he was worried about her, she was barely out of high school and pretty and alone. They didn’t live in the safest of neighbourhoods. He looked out for her when he could, not that he knew why. He only ever thought about himself. Charlie was different though. She was pale, had freckles, and was a scrawny little thing. Cas didn’t have siblings, but if he were to have any siblings that weren’t blood related, it would be Charlie. She was the only person he truly cared about in this fucked up world.

A couple of burly guys with tattoos on their faces were smoking outside the doughnut shop on Charlie’s side of the pavement. Castiel smoothly dropped his arm and spun Charlie so they switched places, and fiddled with her beanie and scarf before walking on, holding her hand this time. He nodded to the men as they strode by, and they returned the action, going back to talking to each other. “You can never be too careful, Charles,” Cas whispered into her ear as he pushed the barred glass door open for his friend. The bell rang overhead, and Gabe, the doughnut guy, was at the counter, looking half-asleep. He was sitting on a rocky stool and had his elbow propped up on the counter with his chin resting on his hand.

“I know, Cas,” Charlie said, walking in and going up to Gabe, who jumped out of his seat when he saw them. “Also, stop smoking. It’s not good for you.”

“Yeah, alright,” Castiel said lamely. He thought about how he’s been coughing up blood for the past couple of weeks, and how it’s been progressively getting worse. He was ashamed. He wouldn’t be able to look out for Charlie if he was sick. _Shut up, you’re fine_. He couldn’t keep telling himself that forever, though.

“Can I get a dozen mini doughnuts, please? Caramel ones if you’ve got any,” Charlie asked politely. God, she was always so polite. Cas didn’t know how she was always able to smile. He could hardly get out of bed in the morning.

“I can get that for you, Charlie,” Gabe said. They were regulars at his crappy doughnut shop, and, “His best customers!” as he told them nearly every time they visited. “What ‘bout you, Cas?” He nodded at the man with the scruffy beard and dirty trench coat.

“Chocolate éclair, the usual,” Cas muttered, looking around the shop. It was almost never clean in the shop. Cas had no idea how Gabe was able to stay open for so long. The wooden chairs at the two wobbly tables were chipped. The wallpaper was peeling and yellow near the ceiling. The white floor had crud in between each tile. Astonishing how he hadn’t gone out of business yet.

Charlie gave Gabe a ten and grabbed her doughnuts. Cas gave two bills to Gabe, and thanked him as he was handed a paper bag with some chocolate icing on the outside of it. They waved to the owner of the shit shop, and walked out. Castiel had Charlie walk on the inside of the sidewalk, his arm around her shoulders once more.

“I’ll walk you home?” Castiel asked. He had positioned his éclair so part of it was sticking out of the bag. He bit into it, and licked filling from the corner of his lip.

“Sure,” Charlie said. “You working tonight?” She knew how Castiel made money. She also knew how he was an addict and didn’t pay rent. Charlie still chose to hang around Castiel though, even if he was one hell of a sketchy looking guy.

He nodded and swallowed before holding out his left hand and using his éclair to point in the direction they were heading, saying, “Yeah, around your neighbourhood tonight.”

“Gonna make some big bucks?”

“Hopefully,” he replied quietly.

“What time is it?”

Castiel shrugged. “I almost never know what time it is, Charles.”

“Right.” It was quiet after that for a while. They walked to the corner of Charlie’s street. Castiel had finished his doughnut and stuffed the paper into his coat pocket. “I’ll see you around,” she said, and waved to him before walking to her building. He raised his hand to her in farewell, and watched her enter her apartment building before heading two streets over to start a long night of work.

 

 _I’m not getting any fucking sleep tonight_ , Castiel thought. He was in a cheap hotel room, staring up at the ceiling as a strange woman rode him. He felt so tired. He wasn’t even hard anymore. He had been for a while, but then he thought about how fucked up his life was, and became depressed.

The woman was moaning annoyingly, not a sexy moan like how you’d expect. No, she sounded nasally and like she was having trouble with keeping up the mood. “Baby, I-I’m close,” she panted.

Is she?? Cas felt as limp as a fish. He was thinking about how vast space was. “There has to be aliens,” Castiel muttered as the woman screamed. You’re kidding me. He supposed it was great timing so that she didn’t hear his dumb ass thoughts.

She breathed heavily as she got off him and lay down beside him. It was just the three of them: Castiel, what’s-her-face, and Castiel’s limp dick. He just wasn’t in the mood. “That was, uh, great,” she said, breaking the silence. She sat up and put on her clothes, dug into her bag and pulled out two hundred dollar bills. She placed it on the stand, said goodnight, and left. That was how it usually went, but then sometimes he would get in bed with weird-o’s. They would want to cuddle afterwards, and it was too intimate for Castiel, but he would charge more if they wanted to do it. He didn’t get the appeal. He’d never been much of a hugger, or a toucher for that matter.

As he was pulling on his jeans, he realized she had been wearing a wedding ring. Castiel sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He hated that. He hated it when low-life’s stooped and would sleep with a prostitute. Castiel was a low-life too, but he’d never cheat on someone. He was a fuck up, but like, a fuck up with morals and shit.

He left the shabby motel room and went to the front desk, asking if the woman had paid for the room. “Nah, man. She just left,” the old man said, staring at his computer screen. Castiel could see he was playing solitaire through the reflection of his glasses.

“Goddamn it, alright,” Castiel sighed, cursing under his breath. He took $30 out of the money that woman gave him, and slid it to ‘Mike.’ “Have a good night.”

Mike grunted in response, put it in the register, and pocketed five dollars for himself. The world is just full of crooks.

It was 4 am, and he was exhausted. It was nothing four cheap ass coffees couldn’t fix though. He sauntered past Charlie’s neighbourhood. He’d had three clients tonight, and had gotten a little under $570. It was a good night. It got so much better though.

There was a small church near the Shit Shop, with one stained glass window with Jesus on it, his hands bleeding and arms open. Cas was never religious. His mom had been, but she stopped believing a long time ago. His mom would bring him to church every Sunday, while his father was at the office. She would say, “Castiel, my angel, the Lord has something special planned for you, baby. I know someone is watching over you. You’ll do great things,” and she would smile, her pearly whites shining, and her dark hair draped over her face. She stopped believing when her brother, Castiel’s uncle, died in a violent car crash. Cas remembers the casket had been closed, his uncle disfigured beyond recognition. His mother stayed in bed for months after that. His father tried to coax her out of their room, but she wouldn’t come out. She had called him into her room. She was pale, her once luscious hair gone oily, her lips dry, and she looked so fragile. “Castiel,” she whispered, reaching for her only son. “Honey, the Lord is a-” she had choked then. She wetted her lips and stared at him with wavering eyes, “-it’s all a lie, Cas.” After that Cas’ dad got her a nurse. His mom got better after that, but she never went back to church.

Castiel bumped into someone then, disrupting his train of thought. He reached out to steady the person he’d run into, grabbing their arms while balancing himself at the same time. “Sorry, about that,” Castiel said, coming back to reality. The first thing to register was the other person’s eyes. They were green, and under the light and shadows of the street lamp, murky. Then the clerical collar caught his eye. “Padre,” he muttered, feeling his mouth open a bit.

It was a priest. Castiel had run into a priest, and he was going to hell for it.

“It’s alright,” he said with a tired smile. The priest was quiet for a second, and then licked his lips, and Cas couldn’t help but stare. “Uh, sorry, could you let go of me, please?”

Cas realized he was gripping Padre’s arms a little too tightly. He let go abruptly, swallowing any other words he would’ve said. “Have a good night,” the priest said, nodding at Castiel and moving past him. Cas was stunned for one more moment, before turning his head to look over his shoulder at Padre. He turned up the steps to the church, unlocked it, and walked through the heavy wooden doors, closing it shut behind him.

“Fuck,” he whispered gently, “I just manhandled a priest.” The light from the street lamp left Castiel’s face in shadows, the darkness from his lashes bending over the small canyons on his cheeks. It was late, and he was feeling the night hit him.

He got back at 4:17 in the morning. Balthazar was arranged on the couch so that his head was draped off a mustard yellow cushion, and his legs were over the back of the sofa. Gadreel was slumped in the corner of the tiny apartment. A smoke ring came from his mouth, lifting up to the ceiling before dispersing. The lights were off, but the apartment was slightly illuminated from the lamps on the street. Castiel walked over the threshold, and locked the door behind him, throwing his house keys on the foldable poker table. The noise made Balthazar stir in his uncomfortable sleep, but he did not wake. Castiel didn’t bother with the lights. Gadreel had barely acknowledged him. Castiel slumped to the far back corner of the room, where the only mattress was, and slumped down onto it, untying his boots and kicking them so they flew in Gadreel’s direction. “Why’re you still up? It’s like, 4:19,” Castiel asked quietly. He lay down on the stained mattress, pulling a ratty, old blanket up over his shoulders.

“Couldn’t, and can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

Gadreel nodded in the direction of Balthazar. “He was having troubles again,” he muttered, and blew a smoke ring at the window he had been looking out of.

Troubles meant s or just dysphoria in general. Balthazar had it the worst. He’d stay up until he could see the moon, and only then could he sleep. He couldn’t be around birds. His mind them into something they weren’t. Colours weren’t colours, and the sky was green most of the time.

Castiel frowned. “Is he okay? Are you alright?”

Gadreel rasped a laugh, and grinned at Castiel. It was unsettling with little light, and the wicked gleam in his friend’s eyes made Cas wonder how they got to. “Me? I’m dandy. Just want some fucking sleep one of these nights. Balthazar? Kid, he’s not doing well. He’s not eating anymore.”

“Shit,” Castiel muttered. He abruptly turned over so he was facing the chipped green wall. He always let himself get into messes. He was never good at staying out of trouble. He didn’t know why he cared about his squatting buddies either. They probably didn’t care about him. Cas was always one to care though, his heart was always too big, even if he had this badass I-don’t-care persona. It never really suited him anyway.

He heard someone shuffling behind him, and peaked over his shoulder to see Gadreel standing, taking off his jeans clumsily, and walking without balance towards Castiel. “Move over,” Gadreel yawned, pushing Cas without waiting for an answer. His friend rolled into bed with him and grabbed a blanket of his own.

“’Night,” Cas whispered. He didn’t get a response; only Balthazar’s snores were heard in the dank and depressing apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super short chapter and I'll write a longer, more detailed one next time xoxo gossip girl

Weeks passed and days blurred into one, a never ending stream of getting fucked, in more ways than one, eating leftover soup and breads that Charlie’s gran gave to Cas, and trying to stay on the down low. Nothing new was happening. It was the routine that Castiel had known for who knows how long, and it wasn’t going to change.

                Castiel was walking home from playing board games at Charlie’s place with her grandma. Her grandma was cool; she always gave Castiel a hug and a coffee when he went over. He didn’t remember much of his own grandparents.

                “I win, fuckin’ losahs,” Grandma Bradbury had yelled after winning Cribbage for the fourth time in the row.

                “Grandma!” Charlie squealed, her face brightening as always. It was almost the colour of her hair.

                “What?” her grandmother responded as she screeched her wooden chair back from the table to grab a drink.

                “Your language! Not very elderly like!” Charlie commented.

                All her grandma had replied back with was, “Honey, when you’ve had a life like mine, you get the privilege to swear all you like. Ass-nuggets!” That last curse word was said due to the lack of cranberry juice in the apartment.

                Castiel coughed into his hand and felt his eyes watering. The wind bit at his exposed, ruddy cheeks, make them a bright pink. _Fucking hate winter,_ Castiel thought, tightening the collar of his trench coat so no cold air crept beneath his jacket. All the leaves had gone. It had been weeks since Castiel had met that priest, not that he thought about it often. Only the man’s eyes and freckled cheeks snuck into his dreams occasionally, and then he’d wake up with a hard on and Gadreel would almost piss himself from laughing.

                “Excuse me,” a voice called from behind Castiel. He didn’t turn around immediately, unsure if the person was speaking to him or not. He kept walking, keeping his pace even and focusing on the STOP sign ahead of him. “Excuse me, sir!” the voice cried, closer this time.

                Castiel finally spun on his heel, staring at the stranger. The person in question was the priest from weeks ago. “Padre?” Castiel asked, though he knew it was the same stranger. The freckles and eyes were a dead giveaway.

                “You seem to have dropped this,” he said, handing Castiel a bundle of his whore money.

                “Oh, shit, thank – I mean, thank you,” Castiel stuttered as he felt his face burning up, the side of his face that he could feel anyway. What the fuck was wrong with him? He never blushed. What an awful word.

                “No problem,” the priest smiled, grinning from ear to ear. Who the fuck-

                “Gave you the right to smile like that?” Castiel said aloud. This deepened his blush, making him extremely hot under his coat even though it was chilly outside.

                “Pardon?” Padre asked, confused. “I’m Dean, Father Dean,” the man said, brushing off Castiel’s mishap and holding out his hand. Dean was taller than Cas, making him feel like a small child.

                Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat and slid his hand into Dean’s. His hand was warm and soft, unlike Castiel’s. “Castiel,” he mumbled, trying to avert his gaze from the priest’s green eyes, but somehow found himself unable to.

                “Like the angel?” Dean asked, still smiling.

                “Yeah, like the angel,” Castiel replied, finding the smiling a tad bit unnerving. He realized he was his hand was still enveloped in Dean’s, and he awkwardly shook it out of Dean’s grip. “If – uh, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I have to be.” He tried walking away, shoving his clammy, rough hands in his pockets, but Dean called out to him.

                “Do you have a place to sleep?”

                Castiel halted, turned back and replied, “Yeah, I have roommates. Why?”

                Dean shrugged, his smile gone. “I just want to keep as many people off the streets as I can.” Castiel nodded, and finding nothing else to say walked away from Dean.

 

                “Look man, do you want this job or not?” Castiel was trying to find another job. He was tired of getting fucked, and wanted a change. He decided to call up an old friend, by the name of Luke, and see what his pal had in store for him.

                “Yes, god damn it, I need money, Luke,” Castiel nearly begged. He and Luke were sitting in a restaurant, and while his partner was eating a three course meal, Castiel had ordered water. He couldn’t afford much to eat at the moment as his earnings had been put towards coke and molly for him and his roomies.

                “You need to get in shape then,” Luke stated. “That means no drugs, no alcohol, you have to actually eat something, and you have to work out.”

                Castiel didn’t know a lot about street fighting, but he thought it perhaps was better than being a prostitute. “I – it’ll take a while, but I can do it.”

                “Can you, Cas?” Luke demanded, staring into Castiel’s faded blue eyes. “You’re fucking shaking like a wet Chihuahua. When was the last time you ate something?”

                “An hour ago,” Castiel replied too quickly. Both men knew they were lying through their teeth.

                “You’re a goddamn liar, that’s what,” Luke huffed, putting down his utensils. “Okay, okay, since I like you, and you’re a nice guy, I’ll help you.” Castiel was about to thank him, to bend his knee and kiss his shoes, when Luke interrupted him. “But, you have to shape up.”

                Castiel nodded his head so frantically Luke thought it might snap his neck. “I’ll do anything it takes.”

                “Even quit?”

                Castiel faltered. Could he do it? Would be able to give up drugs and alcohol? He hated to even think that that was a question in the first place, but it had become a life line for him. Drugs were constant. Drugs didn’t leave you. They made Castiel happy in his darkest moments, made him feel like he mattered. “Yes,” he finally consented. “I’ll quit them.”

                Luke leaned across the table and patted Castiel’s cheeks. “Atta boy, Cassie. Okay, I’ll buy you dinner, order something.”

                Castiel ordered an Italian dish, and never felt so full in his life that night.

               

                Lips, _his_ lips, were all over Castiel’s body, sending shivers down his spine each time he touched his soft spots. _The face has a name_ , Castiel thought, running his fingers through Dean’s short hair. His lips came up to meet Castiel’s, his bare skin on his, and hot to the touch. “Wake up,” Dean said.

                “No, I want to stay like this,” Castiel groaned.

                “Wake the fuck up!”

                This time he did, and he was being shaken furtively. He felt his heart pounding for many reasons, but at that moment it wasn’t from the dream. He smelled smoke, and could see it creeping through the doorway of the apartment. Flickering light was casting shadows beneath the door. Castiel scrambled to his feet from the bed, feeling the panic set in as he saw only Gadreel in the apartment, and not Balthazar.

                “Where is he?” Castiel cried, running to put pants on as quick as he could.

                “He’s been gone all night!” Gadreel yelled, opening the window to the fire escape. “C’mon Cas!”

                Castiel was about to sprint towards the opening, wanting to escape the heat and potential flames, but then he he stopped, leaned forward slightly, and felt wrong altogether. Then he blacked out and fell to the floor.


End file.
